Secrets and Lies
by Elana
Summary: Vignette. Padmé reflects on the events and feelings surrounding her pregnancy.


Secrets and Lies

It is not like me to lie to myself.

When the emergency Senate session was called, forcing me to cancel my yearly appointment at the medical center, it was very unlike me to forget to reschedule it. And when the speeder so unexpectedly swerved out of the lanes of traffic to home in unerringly on my landing pad, and Anakin was there, when I hadn't even known he was on Coruscant, it was unlike me to forget that the last date of guaranteed effectiveness of my previous year's injection had passed more than a week before. And when I did remember, the next morning, the length of his body pressed warm to my back, and a pang of worry shot through my drowsy contentment, it was completely unlike me to dismiss it. _Nothing will happen_, I told myself, and twisted around to send my kisses traveling down the long soft planes of his skin, so he was reaching for me even as he woke. Nothing could possibly happen, not if it meant losing one precious moment of our far too brief time together.

I should have spoken with him about it, over breakfast that morning, but I couldn't bear to disturb his fragile, momentary happiness with worries he could do nothing about. He had to leave that very day, back to the war from which he'd been granted only this brief respite. Who knew how long we'd be apart, unable even to get messages to each other. By the time we met again, it would be far too late, one way or the other, for anything he could do to make a difference. It was already too late for that. So I would keep this burden of worry to myself, secret and unshared.

I think I knew, even then. I was able to put it out of my mind for a while, and bid him farewell with no more than the usual grief, the same clutching fear as always. _What if this is the last time? What if this is the time he never comes back? _ As I watched his speeder vanish into the sky, I was not thinking of the possibility that he'd left a part of himself behind.

But two weeks later, as I waited for my monthly cycle to begin, I had to think of it. I lay each morning, wrapped in the warmth of our bed, afraid to get up and go to the refresher, not knowing which would be worse, if the blood wasn't there, or if it was.

For this was the lie I told myself that led to all the others. That I did not want his child. No matter how much my mind knew that I could not let myself get pregnant now, no matter how well I understood what a disaster that would be, no matter how often we agreed that our marriage must remain secret just a while longer, still my heart and my body rebelled. A deeper, more primal instinct spoke to me from a million generations of genes that cared for nothing but survival.

For three long years I kept up the charade, and faithfully accepted the drug that would keep me barren, but I could not live the lie forever.

I am not careless. I am not stupid. I knew exactly what could happen. So I must suppose my subconscious took control, and overwhelmed for a while my rational mind, for what other explanation is there for me acting so unlike myself?

Even the evidence of my body I denied. Stress, I told myself. Stress can alter a woman's hormones and cause her to miss cycles. And I was certainly under plenty of stress, with the war situation constantly becoming more dire, my duties in the Senate more and more crucial. I ignored the fact that stress had never affected me that way before, and my cycles had always arrived dependably each month, even in the midst of the invasion of Naboo, when my body had been following the rhythm of womanhood for less than a year.

The fatigue that had me nodding off during long speeches and retiring to my bed earlier each night, I attributed to space lag caused by my frequent trips between Coruscant and Naboo. The queasiness that struck at the most inopportune times, so that I had to excuse myself during an official reception to hide in the refresher and retch up what little of the sumptuous feast I had been able to consume, I reassured my concerned handmaidens must be due to nothing more than some brief virus or inconsequential encounter with contaminated food. The thickening of my waist I attributed irrationally to those same lavish feasts I had been able to no more than pick at, and I avoided more and more any constrictive or revealing clothing. Fortunately my Senate robes were loose and ample, and concealed my changing figure. I took to wearing them much of the time, even when not in session. If any noticed, they attributed it to my devotion to my duty, and my reputation as one whose whole life was dedicated to her work only increased.

On one of my rare visits to my family at my childhood home on Naboo, as we relaxed after dinner around the fireplace, catching each other up on recent events in our lives, my father reached over and patted the curve of my swelling belly. My heart raced and my cheeks flushed, but he only laughed. "I see you've been eating well, at least, even though you work yourself far too hard."

I smiled, and shrugged, though I could not quite bring myself to meet his eyes. "Well, middle age is creeping up on me, I guess. You can't expect me to stay a skinny little girl forever."

Everyone laughed, and the incident was forgotten as the conversation moved to other subjects. But I could not forget, or continue much longer to deny to myself what was becoming more obvious with each passing day.

Soon I began to feel faint flutters of movement stirring in my belly. Even then I tried to deny it, lying alone at night, trying to persuade myself it was no more than gas bubbles moving through my intestines.

Then came the night I could deny it no longer. That evening I found streaks of pink blood in my underwear. I shut myself in my room, and buried my face in my pillow, and shook with silent sobs, for I knew in that moment I wanted this child more than life itself, and the thought of losing it tore my heart and ran in shuddering waves through my body. I pleaded then, to the Force and the universe and whatever gods might hear me, for the life of my child. I would gladly have pledged my own in exchange.

I kept to my bed the next day, and the blood did not increase, and over the next few days it turned brown and gradually disappeared. I never knew why I bled.

As I lay in bed the next morning, and the continued vigor of the baby's movements convinced me at last that it was safe and healthy, the tears that come so easily to my eyes these days flowed again. Even if my worst fears were realized, and this war were to claim Anakin's life, even if he were lost to me forever, a part of him would survive. Our love would live on.

I went back to my work, pleading illness as an excuse for my absence, and began to make plans and preparations. I hoped desperately that Anakin would be able to return before my condition must become public knowledge, but I had to be prepared in case he could not. I alone must be ready to bear full responsibility for our child's welfare.

If I were a native of Coruscant, it would be easy. The culture here allows for families of all types, from one parent to many, and that's just among the humans. Among the other species of the galaxy an infinite variety of arrangements exist for the raising of young. But Naboo is in some ways a very conservative place. There the needs of children take highest priority, and a stable family life, with the active involvement of both father and mother, is considered every child's birthright. Making sure that will be possible is every citizen's responsibility before allowing a child to be conceived. While many support measures are in place for those forced by unavoidable circumstances to fall short of the ideal, there is little sympathy for those who by carelessness or deliberate choice doom their child to lack what is seen as essential.

When my pregnancy became known on Naboo, the people would understand that I had failed in my most basic duty to my own child. How then could I be trusted to fulfill my duty to them? And I could not even protest that judgment as unfair, because I truly was not considering my child's wellbeing when I allowed myself to forget there was the possibility of conception. The only thing that mattered to me was my own selfish desires.

I would not, of course, reveal who the father was. That was not my secret to tell. Only if Anakin were to return in time, and we decided together to make our marriage public, would that become known. And even then, the scandal of my secret marriage to a Jedi, which would force him to leave the Order in disgrace, would be enough to doom my political career.

So the Queen would dismiss me from my post as Senator, and rightly so. I must find some other work whereby I could earn the means of supporting my child and myself if I had to. I began to make discreet inquiries. I had received offers in the past to leave public service and work for one corporation or another. Now for the first time I began to seriously consider those offers, and investigate the potential candidate companies to see which I could take employment with while still upholding my principles. In the meantime I worked hard to set my Senatorial affairs in order, making detailed and extensive notes for my successor.

I read extensively on pregnancy and birth, absorbing knowledge voraciously, realizing how little I had known before on the subject. All signs pointed to myself and the baby being healthy, everything progressing normally. I knew I should seek medical care soon, but I delayed. While ostensibly confidential, I knew my political opponents could obtain my records for the right price.

Daily my belly grew larger. I concealed it as well as I could, but I knew that would not last much longer. I continued to wait, hoping for some sign. I could do this alone if I had to, but I wanted so badly not to have to. I wanted Anakin here to share this terrible, wonderful secret with me.

Then the sign came. Separatist forces kidnapped Chancellor Palpatine. News went out across the Holonet that the two greatest Jedi heroes had been given the task of rescuing him. Along with the rest of the galaxy I watched the live broadcast as the flaming fragment of ship bearing my beloved hurtled toward the inevitable crash. And then, miraculously, it was on the ground, and still, and the three figures emerged, alive and unharmed.

Now I wait, heart pounding, hands clammy with sweat, as his ship lands and he steps out to be greeted by the waiting entourage. I long to tell him, but it will be hard to break my long silence. What will his reaction be?

He is here, in my arms, and at long last the secret can be shared. "Ani, I'm pregnant."

Emotions play across his face, shock, confusion, worry, fear. And then, dawning slowly but quickly gathering momentum, sweeping all other reactions aside, joy, pure unalloyed delight. His face glows with more happiness then I have ever seen there, and my heart leaps in response.

"This is the happiest moment of my life."

And of mine, Anakin, my husband, my beloved, the father of my child. No more secrets, no more lies. From this moment on we face the future together.


End file.
